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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29919993">cattails and pottery</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitter_cat/pseuds/bitter_cat'>bitter_cat</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU where Dream is an archaelogist and George is a museum curator, M/M, Short One Shot, very much in media res</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 20:55:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>816</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29919993</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitter_cat/pseuds/bitter_cat</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>George is always doing the staying, and he seems to always be doing the leaving.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>He feels like he’s softly unearthed something that was meant to be hidden away.</em>
  </p>
</blockquote>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>38</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>cattails and pottery</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trashratsaws/gifts">Trashratsaws</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Just a small snippet inspired by @Trashratsaws 'museum' AU. All he said was archaeologist &amp; curator and I hit the ground running with no further details.</p>
<p>And this goes without saying but I know nothing about archaeology nor museum curating.</p>
<p>Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He finds George standing in the west wing.</p>
<p>He figures he should be surprised, but he knows George has a soft spot for the Ancient Civilization gallery. He’s told him before; something about the memories left behind in the dust, softened by the care in the hands of those who found them.</p>
<p>He wonders if George wishes to be found, too.</p>
<p>The dim recessed lights, courtesy of museum after-hours, wash over George, painting his figure like a ghost. It’s fitting. Dream has spent hours trying to reach for crumbs of who he really is, only to come up empty.</p>
<p>“George.”</p>
<p>The name bounces off the walls in an echo, the aftertaste sticking to the top of his mouth like taffy.</p>
<p>“I’m sor-”</p>
<p>“Do you know why this is the most popular exhibit in the museum?”</p>
<p>He shuts his mouth. The confusion at the interjection pulls him forward until he’s standing next to George, looking forward at the statue in front of them.</p>
<p>It’s a terracotta figure. Its features have faded enough to keep the viewers guessing, if not for the cruel rictus carved into its mouth. There’s something distinctly human about it, yet tarnished by the divinely wrathful expression on its face.</p>
<p>“I don’t think there’s only <em> one </em> reason for it. Art is meant to be subjective, right?”</p>
<p>George gives a derisive huff. “This isn’t art, it’s history.”</p>
<p>He lets his mouth twist into a grin. “Same thing, really.”</p>
<p>He feels George’s gaze burn into the side of his face before it's dragged back to the statue. </p>
<p>“He was sacred to an unknown civilization long ago. Treated like a figure drenched in gold.”</p>
<p>“You mean like a god?”</p>
<p>From the corner of his eyes, he sees George shake his head.</p>
<p>“He wasn’t divinity, not in that sense. But in all the ways that mattered, he was <em> their </em>god. Someone deserving of worship.”</p>
<p>Dream can’t keep the incredulous tone from seeping out, “You’re telling me this is the top exhibit because people want to be <em>worshiped</em>?”</p>
<p>George gives a quiet laugh.</p>
<p>“No.” Dream sees his arms come up to wrap around himself as he stands there, looking at the statue in wishful consideration. “It’s because they want to be held just as tightly. To be cherished and remembered. And if you’re a god to someone, then you never truly disappear, right? But-”</p>
<p>He trails off, eyes unfocused as he looks forward. </p>
<p>“He was a god. But what kind of god becomes forgotten?”</p>
<p>And in the small sliver of space, in that singular moment, Dream understands. In his mind, he sees the patience in how George handles the new fossils. He knows he hadn’t imagined the small tremble in his hands when Dream had carelessly chipped the tiny clay pot he had brought in. </p>
<p>A building of exhibits that demand to be seen and in its long shadows is someone who yearns for the same thing. What cruel irony, to be stuck in one place. And what a harsh joke, to be the one doing the leaving.</p>
<p>Dream had always thought George would be okay. That after all that had come to pass between them, this choice to go would be the best thing for George. In hindsight, he thought a lot of things, it didn’t necessarily make them true. Maybe he should have realized long ago that no one ever really forgets, even after the memories begin to fade and wear out. You're never really able to forget that people are capable of leaving, even if they never do.</p>
<p>He feels like he’s softly unearthing something that was meant to be hidden away.</p>
<p>“George-”</p>
<p>“Don’t, Clay. <em> Please</em>, I-”</p>
<p>A brush being held, patiently pulling age-old dust away. Dream circles his hand around a delicate wrist, thumb coming to rest on his wrist bone.</p>
<p>George is trembling slightly, face tucked away and hidden from him. He plants a flag in the dirt, a warning to tread with caution, a sign that something fragile lies beneath.</p>
<p>Dream comes closer and feels the dust clear. He sees the edges of something new to discover, sees in his mind the faint outline of possibility. A shaking hand steadies, small pick held in its grasp, ready to dig, ready to reveal. He has to be careful and proceed without haste or he’ll only end up chipping off a part of it again. A slow inhale. He wets his lips.</p>
<p>“George,” the name comes out like a secret, a soft exhale. “I see you.”</p>
<p>George whips towards him, tears glistening in his eyes, his small mouth tight and quivering. The dirt loosens, revealing what was buried all along.</p>
<p>Dream steps closer until no space is left between them, until he sees what he’s unearthed. His hands come up to softly cup his discovery, thumbs brushing over flushed cheeks, before he leans down to gently press his forehead against his.</p>
<p>“I’ve always seen you.”</p>
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